When I slipped from the womb, all that kept me from climbing on the back of a horse was my lack of mobility. And a horse, of course. Due to a few quality blows to the head, I have few memories of the Mesozoic-like period of my life, but the era is vaguely reproducible from a drizzle of curling black and whites and fading Polaroids of me sitting on anything that resembled an equine, along with the myriad of family complaints at any gathering of my stubbornness in this respect.

Recently we drove through scenic Alburtis, Pennsylvania where I picked up some great curbside appeal ideas. Like endless ways to use versatile rippled, green fiberglass roofing, the year-round charm of fake flowers in hanging pots and the magic of spotting a latent Halloween skeleton. This could explain my sudden urge to build a carport. I should have said “erect” a carport. My husband likes it when I talk dirty. That’s about as close to sex as we get since I entered my 50's.